A Time Not Forgotten
by Starla1
Summary: Set many years before the events in the book. A young Gandalf sets out on a quest on Saruman's orders. It brings him to Mirkwood and Legolas. Legolas/Gandalf slash! Only mild, though!


**A Time Not Forgotten**

A soft summer breeze grazed through the trees of Mirkwood, gently touching the face of Legolas, son of Thranduil, as he crouched down to pick up a birds feather from the ground. Suddenly he stopped his whispered singing, for the air bore something colder in it than the first sign of winter. Quietly he rose to his feet, stringing an arrow to the bow. 

But there was nothing to be heard save for the melodious song of the birds. Even as Legolas's sharp elven eyes could spot no danger he did not put his bow at rest. The wind had brought troubled tidings, and it was time for him to leave. In his heart he felt he was needed elsewhere, and not in the safety of the forest kingdom. 

***** 

It had been a long journey and the young man was weary long before he reached the realm of the Woodlands. He drew out a piece of leather from his robes and studied what had been drawn upon it. The map did not do much good now, he knew what he was looking for was not marked out on it but still it made more sense than this maze of trees he was standing in. If he was lucky, it might hold some clue as to where it would be a good idea to start his search. 

He held up the map and turned to the west, then to the east and back to west again. North and south did not blend in with the map either. With and exasperated gesture he threw the leather into the fire and the flames licked it greedily. A thick smoke rose from the fire and he waved his arms trying to chase it away. One of the arms of his robe got a bit too close to the flame, and with a fizz the end of it was burned black. Loudly he cursed the outfit of a wizard, wondering why they had to be so impractical. 

A soft chuckle reached his ears and his spine grew cold. He turned and saw a slender young man leaning against a tall pine, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smile upon his face. This young man was dressed in the colours of the forest and on his back hung a quiver and a bow. 

_"Aiya! Man essa le?"*_ he said. 

"I'm sorry, I do not understand." 

The man pushed himself up from the supporting tree, taking a step towards the stranger by the fire. 

"I said greeting, and I wondered your name." 

"Greetings to you as well, master elf, for I take it you are indeed an elf. My name is Gandalf." 

"Indeed I am an elf, master Gandalf. Might I ask what your business here in Mirkwood might be, you who don't speak the Tongue of the Elves or even recognise one such?" 

"If you do not mind, my business must be kept my own until I know if you are a friend or foe," Gandalf said. 

"Friend or foe?" the elf asked. "You come into my home and speak of foes, when the world is at rest and the humans live peacefully in their city behind guarded walls. Maybe you should have stayed where guards with steel could have protected you." 

"I do not mean to offend, master elf, but only a fool would think that the world is ever at rest. It would be to claim that the sun would not rise when the morning comes, or that it would linger in the sky as the night falls. And I do not come from one of the cities nearby. My journey has been much longer than that and I fear that this forest here that is your home is but my first stop. The road I must travel is still long but I am not such a fool as to think I could walk it without the help of those who are wiser." 

The elf stood silent for a moment, considering the other's words. "You speak truly, master Gandalf, and you seem wise beyond your young human years. I might be inclined to help you, but I do wish that you could hint to me as to which nature your business here is. You must understand that the way of the elves is not open to just anyone. Our city is not guarded by walls, nor guards, therefore it is of outmost importance that the gate does not be revealed to a darkened heart." 

"I come on the orders of my master, Saruman the White. As his apprentice I seek the advice and knowledge of King Thranduil. That, master elf, is as much as I can reveal to you as long as you go nameless." 

"Then fear not, master wizard apprentice. I will not press you for further information. If what you have to say was not meant for my pointed ears then I will take you to one who it was meant for. Come," he motioned for Gandalf to follow, "my name is Legolas, son of Thranduil. I will take you to my father so that you can reveal your urging matter to him." 

***** 

The city of the Mirkwood elves lay above the ground, built on poles and supported by trees it rose a fair bit above the grass covered earth. 

"Welcome to my humble home, Gandalf," Legolas said. "It is not as fair as Imladris*, and I would not even dare to compare it to the grand Lothlorien." He paused, his dark eyes widening as he stared at something far off in the distance and sighed. "But it is my home," he whispered, almost as if to himself, "and therefore it will always be kept the most sacred within my heart." 

"Well spoken, master Legolas," said Gandalf mildly. "Your heart and tongue is that of a poet, but your shoulders bears a burden of a warrior and king." He placed his hand on the elves shoulder and squeezed it gently. 

"My apologies, I am to take you to the king, not trouble you with my own heavy thoughts. Come, let us go and see what my wise father has to say." 

Gandalf watched the elves they passed as they made their way towards the king's residence. They all bore clothes that resembled the colour and appearance of the once that Legolas bore, but they wore no protection against sharp arrows and blades such as the king's son did. 

The elves moved gracefully around their city, surveying the stranger with watchful eyes. Their golden voices faded as the two passed them by and Gandalf could feel their curious and suspicious stares on his back. 

"Here it is," Legolas said and stopped before a building that seemed none too different from the rest except for the magnificent door that barred the entrance. It was decorated with the most delicate carvings of what seemed like elven history and Gandalf wished that he would have time to study it closer before he had to take his leave. 

"Will you not come with me?" 

"I will introduce you to my father, but if he, or you, feel that what word needs to be exchanged between you is not for me then I will leave. If you wish, you can meet up with me again later," he added. "I am usually out in the forest at this hour until it gets dark, but tonight I will await you in my home, if you would feel like company." 

"I would very much like that," Gandalf smiled thankfully. "I must admit that I feel a bit lost here among all the long ears and strange hypnotic tongue and fair faces." 

Legolas smiled. "You, my dear _mellon_,"* he laughed, "have the tongue of a bard and wits of a jester. But I must advice you to keep these talents latent for as long as you are among us, for elves do not enjoy being mocked for their fair looks, nor being called _long ears._" 

Gandalf's face turned a shade closer to read. "I am truly sorry, I fear my tongue is running away with me again. I assure you, I meant no offe…" 

"No, no," Legolas shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, "you need not worry about me. I do not take offence that easily. Far to many times have blood been spilt on the grounds of a short temper, but it will be the day a beardy dwarf sits on my father's throne before that will happen with me." 

"You speak with…" Gandalf started but was once again interrupted by the elf. 

"Here now, let us not stand here and compliment each others tongues or wits anymore. Let us have this urging business of yours attended to instead." 

"Aye, you have a point, my good Legolas. In the end a good advice will always get you longer than the most exquisite flattery." 

Legolas held the door open and gave Gandalf a last smile before they entered the king's great hall. "Glad we agree." 

Soft music streamed from a harp in the hands of a skilled elven woman. The elegant tones filled the room and seemed to float on the light coming in from an opening in ceiling that let the sun in. 

In the middle of the room a giant throne of oak stood. No knife had ever cut into that wood. It seemed to have grown out of the ground, twisting it's branches to form itself into a throne for the elven king who now sat upon it. He looked much like Legolas, but his face seemed older and there were streaks of silver in his golden hair. He wore a simple crown of green leaves upon his head. 

"Father." 

As he heard Legolas's voice the king rose his head and looked over at them, he motioned for them to come forward, and the scribe he had recently been talking to backed away to make room for the prince and his companion. 

Legolas bowed as he approached the throne. "Father," he said again. 

"Legolas, my dear son, you have kept away far too long from me. Where have your busy mind and dreams taken you this time?" 

"I am sorry, father, I have not kept away on purpose. I have spent most of my time on the ground, but among the trees. I have been collecting feathers for my arrows. I have guarded the deer and his does that stray freely in the forest, keeping them away from the hungry eyes of Men. I also kept guard at the Old Forest Road some days, making sure that no one with evil intent came through our forest. But now as _yávië_* draws nearer every day, I felt a need on me to return home." 

The old king sighed. "Legolas, my son, you always saw things that not even the sharpest of elven eyes would pick up, and you always heard things that wouldn't reach the others' ears. I fear your return will be a short one, and soon you will be gone from the ones who keep you safe and loved once again. So tell me, who is this stranger you have brought into my hall?" 

"This, father, is Gandalf, apprentice to the mighty Saruman. He has been sent here on some mission for the White One, but I do not know what, for what he has to say is for your ears only." 

Thranduil waved his hand at the others present. "Leave us, I will hear what this boy sent from Saruman has to say and then I will judge whose ears it is for." 

Legolas turned to leave as well but his father stopped him. "Stay, son, if master Gandalf does not disapprove." 

"I do not," replied Gandalf and stepped forward. 

"Good then. I take it, master Gandalf, that you do not know the Elven Tongue since we are all speaking in the Tongue of Man, which is something I must say, that does not happen every day up here among the treetops." 

"No, good king, I do not know your fair language. I fear my studies has not taken me that far yet, and that is part of the reason why I am here. And a language is indeed what has brought me this way." 

Thranduil leaned forward in his throne, scratching his chin. "Do tell me more." 

"As I said," Gandalf continued, "I am but a mere apprentice. Before one can call oneself wizard or sorcerer or anything such like and progress to the next level in ones studies of spells, the master gives the apprentice a test. It is not a test of insignificance, but more often of great importance. It is meant to push the skills of the apprentice to the limits, learn him something he can not learn from books." 

"And now it has come to you to take this test?" the king asked. 

"Yes, I have been sent here to find something, a language to be more precise. The Forgotten Language of Mordor to be exact." 

The king's eyes widened as he heard this, he twisted uncomfortably in his throne and his tone was colder as he spoke again. "You seek the language of the Land in Shadows? The language that was so horrible that it had to be buried so that it could do no more harm." 

"I only seek proof that such a language did once exist. I do not need to learn it, nor read it. I just need something to prove that it was once spoken, written and read." 

"Then why did you come to us.?" 

"Old books and scriptures that can be found in Saruman's possession suggests that the elves would have some clue as to what happened to this language. It is supposed to be documented in the journal of one of the Silvan Elves that fought in the battle against Sauron. We knew there are Silvan Elves here in Mirkwood, and it seemed as good a place to start as any other." 

"Oh, such unease you bring to our land, master Gandalf," the king cried. "Seeking the Forgotten Language of Mordor. You do not know what powers you stir to be asking for that horrendous tongue." 

"I assure you that neither mine or my master's intent are evil. We seek the language only to place it in history where it belongs. So much of Mordor is unknown and there be a need for us to know this land and the people that once rose with such evil force." 

The king sighed and it seemed as if a heavy burden had been placed upon him. "I will tell you of the language you are seeking then. The journal you mentioned is not among us. I do know where it is, but I will not tell you, not yet. The Forgotten Language you seek is not actually forgotten. At the end of the Second Age it was left to rot in the mud at the foot of Orodruin,*" he shivered as he said the name. "You do not realise how powerful this language was, master Gandalf. Some of the most horrible spells ever known to man or elf was bound in this tongue. If it were to fall into the wrong hands, well, who knows what would happen. I can only pray that this will be enough for you to take back to your master, for I do not wish to go against the will of the White One." 

Gandalf cleared his voice before he spoke. "I am most grateful for what you have told me, honourable king of the Woodlands, but I fear that I need more to take back with me to my master. I do not doubt your word, and neither does he, but I was sent out to find solid proof, a scripture or something such like, even if it is just a torn page with some words scribbled on it. But I can return with no less. My mission would not be fulfilled if I did and I would not feel worthy to take my studies any further." 

Again, Thranduil sighed. "As I said, I do not wish to cross Saruman. Very well, master Gandalf. I will let you see this journal. But you will not find it here. To see it you must travel to the most sacred place of the forest. There you will find _Tinwë_* the city in ruins. Destroyed before it was ever finished. The journal is there." 

"Thank you, king Thranduil." Gandalf bowed slightly. 

"Legolas," the king turned to his son, "will you accompany master Gandalf on this journey. You know the way to our fallen city well." 

"Yes, father. I will take Gandalf to Tinwë." 

"Good, but you must not leave until morning. Night is almost here and it is getting far to dark to travel trough the forest. Tomorrow, your journey will begin." 

_Disclaimer: The Lord Of The Rings belongs to, as all know, to mr J.R.R Tolkien. _

_I used quenya as the language for the elves in this story, even though it was mainly spoken by the high elves. The reason for this is that it is simply much easier to find sources for quenya than sindarin (which is more commonly spoken than quenya.) I used The Lord Of The Rings and The Silmarillion as a source for the phrases spoken here, as well as some websites for live-roleplaying that uses quenya in their games._

_Word List  
Aiya! __Man essa le? = Hello! __What is your name.  
Imladris = Rivendell  
Mellon = friend  
yávië = autumn   
Orodruin = Mount Doom  
Tinwë = spark (this city was made up by me) _

To be continued…


End file.
